


Muffled, From The Other Side Of The Door

by cosmicphan



Series: The Way You Said "I Love You" [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Phil, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicphan/pseuds/cosmicphan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s as easy as breathing but breathing shouldn’t quite feel like this, should it? Dan is all dimpled smiles and brilliantohsobrilliant ideas that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stays awake at night, it’s become increasingly difficult to go to sleep with his mind full of thoughts of chocolate and whiskey and brilliance. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Phil is so in love but Phil is so fucked too.<i></i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Muffled, From The Other Side Of The Door

**Author's Note:**

> I saw these really cool prompts revolving around saying "I Love You" and I immediately melted. 
> 
> (Can you tell I really love prompts floating around on tumblr)
> 
> Also, this weird angsty thing I had written was sitting around being useless, so I just combined the two.

_Phil is so in love_.

 

He can feel it. It starts from the buzzing in his ears, to the smile crinkles near his eyes, to the large lump in his throat. To the galaxy in his lungs, to the trembling in his hands, to the shaking of his legs. He doesn’t say the words. He doesn’t need to. He’s sure the stars in his eyes are enough to convey the momentous emotion of joy and terror bubbling inside of him. He is oblivious to the fact that the same stars are not present in Dan’s eyes. But for now, for him, his stars are enough. For now. For him.

He wakes up every day to obnoxious renditions of video game soundtracks. He goes to sleep listening to the nervous footsteps coming from the other room. He shakes his head at loud rants about the universe and inevitability of death and all he can sense is _beautifulbeautifulbeautiful_ ; because in those moments he sees dazzle in the brown, no hazel eyes and mistakes them for stars meant for him. A big smile, a dimple; he melts. He is fucked.

 

 _Phil is so in love_.

 

He is in love with brown hair, insignificant to normal eye but gold to his glazed, blue, confused ones. He in love with the sparkles he manages to catch in the deep abyss of never ending wonder in the hazel eyes. He is in love with the crater in his cheeks. He is in love with his voice, with his fingers, with his aura, with him. And he can’t go back. Not now.

He doesn’t quite catch the turmoil in the eyes that remind him of whiskey, intoxicating and life-destroying when they catch the sparkle in his azure ones. He doesn’t sense the uncertainty in the nervous laughs when he is laughing too loudly at a bad joke. He isn’t aware of the touches that end in anxious flinches because his skin is lit up, his nerves are on fire and he knows that it should not hurt but it is too good of a hurt to bother now. The nearness feels too good and he doesn’t notice the closeness that constricts his chest and his heart and his throat because everything is still clouded by the whiskey and intoxication.

 

 _Phil is so in love_.

 

They smile and they laugh together. Everything is at ease because that’s how things are. That’s how things should be. Video games and coffees for each other, shared blankets and muffled hazy laughter, comfort, that’s what they are. Phil finds solace in Dan’s head on his shoulder and the videos they make. He pretends. He pretends that they are together because it’s easy because that’s how it feels when at 2 am, they are still lying on the couch watching reruns of the Great British bake Off and he’s oblivious to the growing distance that Dan puts between them.

It’s as easy as breathing but breathing shouldn’t quite feel like this, should it? Dan is all dimpled smiles and _brilliantohsobrilliant_ ideas that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stays awake at night, it’s become increasingly difficult to go to sleep with his mind full of thoughts of chocolate and whiskey and brilliance. He brings himself to orgasm with his brain hazy and crowded with dark hair and slender piano fingers and he is aware of how wrong it is, but his brain is hazy and his morals foggy, it’s just easy to pretend.

 

 _Phil is so in love but Phil is so fucked too_.

 

It’s four and there’s fuzzy warmth bubbling in Phil’s chest, he feels fond and affection tighten his chest but maybe its wine, maybe its love, but Phil is too gone to tell them apart. Especially when Dan is smiling at him like that, maybe now there are stars in the dark, murky eyes, maybe the touches do linger now. The thought thrums through his very being It nears sunrise and the house smells very sweet, it can be the candle that he forgot to blow out or the strong feeling of fondness that he feels, hangs in the air. Dan is sitting near him, or he pretends that it is proximity and scoots a little near his warmth. Dan was probably rambling about something, on second thoughts Dan was definitely rambling about something, but the sudden nearness shuts him up. Phil feels it building up. He leans forward and touches his lips to Dan’s, tentative and saccharine. Astringency fills his mouth instead as Dan rushes out of the lounge. The absence echoes around the room, loud and resounding.

It’s easier to pretend, anyways.

 

 _Phil is so fucked_.

 

Phil doesn’t talk about it. Dan doesn’t bring it up and a sadistic part of Phil’s black heart makes him believe it’s because he doesn’t regret it. But it’s hard to ignore aloofness that stays in the air, and makes it difficult to breathe. Dimpled smiles hurt but detachment stabs at him. There is a frigid fire in his chest when Dan smiles at him in the mornings now, close lipped and solemn.

They still play video games and watch reruns of Great British Bake Off, but Dan’s head is not on his shoulder now. Hazel eyes turn the colour of mud at Phil’s suggestion of sharing a blanket. Phil is clutching a rose, his hands are bleeding but the rose is oh so beautiful. 2 am now greets him with an empty space on the couch beside him, and maybe he’s crying, maybe he his laughing, he can’t really tell.

 

 _Phil is so fucked and he knows it_.

 

Phil remembers falling in love as clearly as he sees Dan’s callousness now. Dan jumping off the train and greeting him at the train station, with a hug that left him breathless and a laugh that filled his head with a promise; seeing all of Manchester but finding places to visit in Dan’s eyes, the space between his shoulders, in the crook of his neck. He ponders whether Dan has changed.

They are discussing sketches for BBC a minute and the next Dan is saying he’s moving out. Something about individual growth and financially stability. But Phil is not listening; all he can hear is the rush of the blood to his ears. He swears he hears his heart crack a little. His vision is blurry and a chill spreads through his bones, becoming one with them. He nods along to Dan’s rapid mumbling, swallowing the lump in his throat.

 

_Phil has fucked and everyone knows it._

 

The sound of Dan closing the door behind him reverberates throughout the apartment. Phil stands alone in the aftermath, all signs of Dan lost from his ‘home’.

 

“I love you,” he muffles from the other side of the door. It was easy to pretend, but now there is nothing left. Maybe Dan was always like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see if I will continue this. (I will. I like this idea way too much to not continue).
> 
> Hit kudos if you liked this, thanks for reading!!


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